


Biker Gang

by chollarcho



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: F/F, Genderbend, crackfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chollarcho/pseuds/chollarcho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethel decides to join Encke's biker gang.  Updated with a separate story in the same universe.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

So here Ethel was.  Twenty-four years old, brand new law degree from a notable women’s college, and an asshole Senator for a father who immediately lined up a position for her in the office of one of his colleagues.  This other Senator, he assured her, had graciously agreed to overlook the fact that her school was run by grim atheist, anarchist, feminist lesbians who never had any fun at all.  (This assessment was not strictly accurate:  Provost Cook was openly socialist, and President Bering was a practicing Buddhist, and they were both rumored to have lots of fun.  Together.)

But fuck that.  Why should she spend any of her time supporting the political activities of an asshole like her father when she could be pulverizing the patriarchy? 

Yet Ethel was not certain how she would go about subverting and obliterating pervasive male domination.  Gripped by indecision as she was, the natural course of action was to run away for the summer and join a lesbian biker gang.  In the company of these strong women, she’d figure out what to do.

So Ethel stuffed as much of her belongings into her suitcases as possible and dropped them off with a friend.  In her backpack, she kept some essentials—clothing, first aid kit, rations, and trusty vibrator.  This would be a summer of meditation (and an undetermined amount of violence).

\--

A friend of a friend of a friend of an acquaintance tipped her off about a lesbian biker gang, the Fighters, staying on the outskirts of the city.  Amazing what information an innocuous post on Spacebook could yield!  A few internet searches later, Ethel knew exactly where to go and to whom she should speak about a lesbian biker gang summer internship.

The gang was located in an empty office and warehouse complex, and when Ethel arrived she found them having a meeting in the warehouse yard.  She parked her bike a little ways from the group and approached warily, gripping her helmet tightly under her arm.  “I’m here to speak to Encke, your president,” she said to the nearest bikers.

“That’s me,” drawled a biker seated in the middle of the assembly.  Ethel’s eyes widened as Encke stood, statuesque and sporting a bad-ass mohawk.  “What do you want?”

“I want to join your lesbian biker gang,” Ethel stammered.

Encke snorted.  “What are your qualifications?”

“Well, I’m a lesbian and I have a motorcycle—”

“Yes, yes, we can all see the bike, very nice.  But can you fight?  We’ve got a fight scheduled with the Navigators for, um—Cassia?”

“Saturday, three in the afternoon, abandoned warehouse on Avenue Seventy,” rattled off a biker seated at Encke’s side.

“I—I can fight,” Ethel managed, though she suddenly wasn’t so certain she could.

Encke rolled her eyes.  “Tell you what.  I’ll have someone train you a little, and if you’re not up to it, you can observe the fight on Saturday.  Afterwards you can decide if you really want to join up.  Cain,” she snapped, and a surly-looking biker stepped forward.  “You get to babysit—what’s your name, chica?”

 “Uh…Jane.”  Because she was incognito and all.

“Fuck that, we’ve already got three Janes.  Anyway, we use codenames—cool, right?  I’m going to call you Abel because it’s funny.”

Ethel glanced at Cain, who was gorgeous but also seemed extremely dangerous, and wondered if her new name boded well.  “Maybe I could be called Athena or—”

“Run along with Cain, Abel.”

Cain smirked and flung an arm around Ethel’s shoulders.  Ethel winced as the blunted spikes decorating Cain’s leather jacket dug into her back.  “Come on, baby, I’ll show you around.  What’re you looking so scared for?  I’m friendly.”

“Sure you are,” muttered Ethel, easing out from Cain’s arm only to be grasped around the waist.

“Nice curves, sweetheart.  Cute tits.  32B?”

“Um, no.”  Ethel squirmed away from Cain’s wandering hands again.

“Hey, Abel, I’ll show you around,” offered a tall woman with a dashing eye patch, but before Ethel could reply, Cain shoved the other woman, spitting with rage.  “Fuck off, Praxis!  You heard Encke, I get to show Abel the ropes!”

“More like show her your bed!  You’re so fucking predictable, Cain.  First Deimos and now—”

Cain forced Praxis back a step, crowding her, which would have looked more impressive had Cain not been speaking into taller Praxis’ considerable cleavage.  “Stay the fuck away from Deimos or I’ll cut out your other eye!”

“I don’t want anything to do with your scrawny rat,” Praxis hissed, and finally backed off.  Scowling darkly, Cain looked back at Ethel and then at a petite woman off to the side.  She shot a venomous glare at Ethel, flicked a butterfly knife between her hands, and stalked away.  Ethel paled.

“Come on, Abel,” Cain snapped.  “I’ll show you the camp.”

\--

The Fighters were on the way back to the city from an excursion, and their temporary living quarters were inside one of the empty office buildings.  “Where we stay depends on where we are,” Cain told Ethel as she opened the door to an office suite on the second floor.  “Most of the ladies are from the city, so when we’re nearby we can stay in our own beds.  For now, it’s just sleeping bags.  Did you bring one?”

“Oh—no,” Ethel admitted sheepishly.  She had a sleeping bag, once, but it had been appropriated by bears on a camping trip several years ago.  She decided to save that story to increase her street cred with the Fighters.

Cain leered gleefully.  “That’s okay, princess, we can share.”  She led Ethel to a series of small rooms filled with sleeping bags and the bikers’ luggage.

“Um, about sharing…”

Cain ignored her and stopped in front of a blue sleeping bag, shrugging off her spiky jacket.  “So you want to join our gang, cutie?  This a long-time ambition of yours?”  Depositing the jacket on the floor next to the sleeping bag, Cain tugged Ethel close and tried to gnaw on her ear—perhaps trying to be affectionate or sexy?—but Ethel shoved her away, not interested in becoming a chew toy.

“Back off.  I just needed something to do this summer while I try to figure out what to do next.  I’m here to live in a community of women and do some deep-thinking.”

Cain goggled.  “Fuck, Abel, did you get us mixed up with a convent?  We’re a gang of bikers.”

“You’re a group of social outlaws operating under an ideal of nonconformity to mainstream culture.”  (Though Cain’s canvas duffel bag did have a very mainstream Hello Kitty pattern.)

Cain looked at her oddly until Ethel huffed and crossed her arms.  “…I guess so,” Cain said slowly.   “We do whatever the fuck we want.  And I am totally interested in fucking you if you’re interested in that too.”  Cain made a show of straightening her tank top, which showed her breasts—somewhere around 38C, Ethel estimated—to excellent advantage, and smiled toothily.

Ethel looked her up and down again.  Yes, very sexy indeed.  And it _had_ been a while since her last girlfriend, and they hadn’t done much other than hold hands…  “I’ll think about it.  Tonight I’m really tired and—”

“And I’m really awesome at going down.  Just ask Deimos, when she’s not in a pissy mood.  And I have a strap-on and three, uh, implements, and I’m awesome at them too.  I’m awesome all around.  Deimos will vouch for me, if she feels like it.”

“Oh, good,” Ethel muttered, because the last thing she wanted to do was find the glaring woman with the butterfly knife and ask her opinion on sex with Cain.

Meanwhile, Cain lined up her three “implements” on the sleeping bag and stripped off her tank top.  “So?  What do you say?”

Oh, hell.  It was summer.  What was summer without a summer fling?  “All right.  Let’s fu—oof!”  Cain tackled her to the sleeping bag, mouth everywhere, hands pulling off their clothing.  She yanked Cain’s head up to her mouth by the hair, kissing her jaw and cheeks, thrusting her tongue in her mouth.  Cain responded with a moan and straddled Ethel’s hips, the better to plaster their bare torsos together.

Ethel gasped as Cain moved down to cup her breasts, kiss them and lick them, press her face into them and suck at the supple skin.  Ethel grabbed for Cain’s breasts, larger than her own and such a beautiful, heavy shape, but Cain was already gone, shifting down her legs, pulling her knees up and apart.  Ethel trembled and tightened in anticipation for the split second in which Cain met her eyes and smiled so eagerly—and then Cain was between her thighs, licking, sucking, kissing towards her clit. 

She came, and then came again, Cain’s tongue on her clit and then her fingers inside her, pleasure crashing through her, curving her back and convulsing her muscles, pulling Cain closer and closer.

“Fuck,” Cain moaned, crawling up Ethel to kiss her mouth.  “Baby, I want you to fuck me hard—”  One of Cain’s hands was between her own legs, moving fast at her clit, and Ethel reached down to feel Cain, hot and wet.

Cain groaned into their kiss and came.  “Princess, you’re so fucking hot.  Haven’t come this fast in ages.”

“Hurry up and get the harness,” Ethel demanded, and Cain rolled away to open her duffel bag, saying, “Pick an implement.”

Ethel frowned.  “Why do you keep saying that?  It’s so unsexy.”

“Dildo sounds stupid.  You’re ruining the mood.  Pick one.”  Cain produced the harness and a small vibrator for its crotch.

Ethel shivered and looked away to examine each of the ~~dildos~~ ~~implements~~ pleasurable accessories.  “What’s the difference?”

“This one is purple, this one’s red, and this one’s green.  Are you fucking colorblind?”  Cain began buckling the harness around Ethel's hips.

Ethel gasped as Cain turned on the vibrator and pressed it against her clit.  “Meant the difference in how they feel—”

“Let’s go with purple,” Cain said impatiently, producing a condom from seemingly nowhere.  She loosened the harness again to fix the purple accessory in place, and then Ethel adjusted the straps again and rolled on the condom.

Cain pushed Ethel to her back once more and gave her a wolfish grin.  “You ready, baby?”

Ethel matched her grin and jerked her hips as Cain pressed the vibrator firmly against her again.  “Do it.”

Cain sank down onto her in two motions, fast and short, groaning and urging Ethel to move with a hand on her hip.  “Fuck yes,” she moaned.  “Like I said, baby, make it hard—”  Ethel rolled Cain under her and complied.

They had a wonderful time, doing more fun things than can be described in this brief story.

\--

On Friday, Cain tried to teach Ethel how to throw a knife, and when her efforts failed miserably, nearly taking out Praxis’ other eye (so close! yet so far), Cain tried to teach Ethel how to throw a punch.  That she could do, but not with enough force to hold her own in a fight.  “Okay, I have a better idea.  You can stand in the background and yell as loudly as possible.  It’ll scare the crap out of them.  Maybe you can shout ‘Get the Molotov cocktails!’ and wave your arms.”

Ethel blanched.  “You use Molotov cocktails?”

“Not anymore, they’re more trouble than they’re worth.  Incidentally, _that_ is how Praxis lost her eye.  Right, Cyclops?” Cain raised her voice as Praxis walked nearby.

Praxis snarled wordlessly at Cain, then looked at Ethel in her pink sports bra and blushed bright red.  Cain noticed right away.

“Fuck off, Praxis!  Abel and her tiny tits are mine,” she growled.  “Or else you wanna come over here, and I’ll show Abel what a real fight looks like when I kick your ass!”

“My tits aren’t tiny!” Ethel protested.  “I’m a 34B, and you and I are _not_ in a relationship after only three hours of sex and fifteen minutes of pillow talk and fifteen minutes arguing about what you call your dildos.”  But Cain and Praxis were already tussling.

“Oh, fuck’s sake, save it for tomorrow,” sighed Cassia.  “By the way, Abel, cute sports bra.”

“Thanks!”

\--

Meanwhile, Deimos glared at Abel and her stupid 34B chest.  Deimos was barely a 32AAA and that had always been perfect for Cain, who claimed to be really into small breasts because they were so pert and cute.  So how could Cain abandon Deimos for Abel’s (comparatively) enormous breasts?!  Was her interest truly so fickle?  Should Deimos dig out from the bottom of her bag that lacy lime green push-up bra guaranteed to increase her endowment by two cup sizes?

No…no.  Cain would soon tire of Abel’s slightly bouncing breasts and return to Deimos.

Or Abel would soon tire of Cain’s obnoxious behavior and kick her back to Deimos.  Whatever happened first.  The latter was more likely.

\--

“Disastrous,” Cain reported to Encke a few hours later.  Ethel curled up on the ground beside her, moaning over her aching limbs and wondering if she would ever recover from Cain’s training session.

Encke eyed Ethel pityingly.  “Oh, she’s that bad?”

“She needs weeks of training.  Definitely not ready for Saturday.”

“Hmm.  Get up, Abel, or your muscles will stiffen.”  Encke let Cain obligingly haul Ethel to her feet.  “So, what else can you do for my Fighters?  Any special talents?  Any useful education?”

Ethel tried not to lean so obviously on Cain.  “Um, I have a JD…”

Encke’s mouth dropped open.  “Seriously?  You any good?  You didn’t flunk out or anything, right?”

“No, I did fine.”  Graduated number one in her class, no big deal, whatever.

“Congrats, you’re our new legal counsel.  And I have a matter right now on which you could provide advice.”  Encke pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from her jacket pocket and handed it to Ethel with a flourish.

Ethel squinted at the handwritten notes on the lined notebook paper.  The first note read:

_Encke, you owe me $350 for the repairs & you’d better pay up on time.  Send me the cash by my birthday or I’ll cut you off & you’ll have to beg that bitch Keeler for any action. –Vicks_

And below:

_Bitch.  You’re jealous.  You’ll get the money. –Encke_

_I am NOT jealous.  Who’d be jealous of that flaky Barbie doll & her smelly snatch?! –Vicks_

And Ethel stared in disbelief at the embossed seal and scrawled signature at the bottom of the page.  “You got this notarized?”

“Sure.  Deimos is a notary public, and I like to give her something to do from time to time.  Other than play with knives.”

“I see.”  Ethel glanced across the yard at Deimos, who watched their conversation with narrowed eyes while tossing her butterfly knife and notary’s seal from hand to hand.

Encke gestured to the document impatiently.  “So, do I have to pay up?”

Ethel wasn’t quite sure, but she was good at sounding knowledgeable.  “It’s a bit unconventional in structure, but it does state the terms of the agreement, and you did sign it with a witness.”  She shrugged.  “Also, Vicks sounds pretty angry.  I think you’d better send her the money.”

“Fuck, I don’t even know when her birthday is,” sighed Encke.  “Well, thanks for clarifying that, Abel.  Oh, and cute sports bra.”

“Thanks!”  Ethel blushed as bright pink as the much-praised garment.

\--

Deimos changed into her lime green push-up bra.  _Tr_ _és_ hot!

\--

On Saturday morning, the Fighters suited up in pleather and spikes galore and sped to Avenue Seventy to confront the rival biker gang, the Navigators.

“Stay back, princess,” Cain cautioned her again as they slowed near the appointed location.  “The Navis are led by Encke’s ex-girlfriend Keeler, and she and her crew are fucking psychotic.”

“Everyone hold off until I speak with Keeler,” Encke ordered them.  The Fighters approached the warehouse yard on foot, with Ethel marching next to Cain and Deimos at the back of the group.

A slender woman with long, golden hair leaned against the side of the warehouse as a group of bikers waited at her side.  Ethel squinted at her, perhaps thirty yards away, and decided this must be Keeler from the way she watched Encke with narrowed eyes and a calculating smile.  Keeler’s upper body was bare except for a bandeau sports bra—which probably wasn’t very practical in a fight, but did look cool and rebellious paired with her military surplus trousers and combat boots.

Cain thrummed with energy next to Ethel.  “Can’t wait to rip into some Navis,” she muttered, shaking out her arms and cracking her knuckles.

“Um, what exactly does a fight entail?” whispered Ethel.  “Nobody actually gets hurt, right?”

“Ha!  What do you think this is, a pillow fight?  How do you think Praxis encountered a Molotov cocktail?”  Cain shook her head, frowning at Ethel.  “Look, baby, don’t worry.  You just stand back and watch—you can even close your eyes when it gets scary.  Afterwards tell Encke you want to quit, and she’ll let you go.  Then you can go back to being a pretty little princess, and we’ll meet up to fuck whenever I’m in town.  Deal?”

Ethel tried to imagine the look on her father’s face if he were to meet Cain.  That would be worth seeing.  And her mother would want to take them both out for some quality girl talk and mani-pedis.  In that case, _Cain’s_ face would be worth seeing.  “I’ll think about it,” she promised, though she’d already decided.

Then Keeler’s voice rang across the yard, confident and harsh.  “So you decided to come get your ass kicked after all, Encke?”

“You’re pretty cocky for someone who lost the previous fight.  Finished licking your wounded pride already?” Encke replied, sounding almost bored.

“Finished _training_ so we can beat your asses into the dirt this time,” Keeler snapped, folding her arms and stepping forward.

“Oh, I see,” Encke said airily.  “Before we get started, I have a message.  Vicks says hi.”

Keeler dropped her arms and stared at Encke with a tight expression.  “Vicks?  You’ve been talking with that bitch?”

“Saw her just a few weeks ago.  Had a nice visit while she fixed my bike.”

“You let her _fix your bike_?” Keeler snarled, clenching her fists and stamping her foot.  “That’s such bullshit and you know it, _I’m_ the only one who can get your pile of junk running properly.”

Encke shrugged, starting to smile.  “I know you’re a good mechanic, baby, but Vicks—”

“Vicks can go to hell!  I’m the _best_ mechanic, and I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had, so you can forget about seeing her again!”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”  Keeler grabbed Encke’s hand and hauled her towards the warehouse door, shouting at the assembled bikers, “Don’t fucking move!  We’re going to negotiate.”  And the two leaders disappeared into the warehouse.

Cain drooped and scuffed her boots against the ground despondently.  “Oh, fuck.  Guess there’s no fight after all.”

“What’s going on?”  Ethel was absolutely baffled.

“That was Encke and Keeler’s equivalent of making up just now.  They’re probably fucking in there.”  As if eager to confirm Cain’s speculation, Keeler’s sports bra and an artificial breast flew out of the warehouse door.  “Yeah, definitely fucking,” Cain decided.

A petite woman with pink-streaked blonde hair scrambled to pick up the bra and the artificial breast, protesting, “Keeler, I told you not to throw this around!  It’s too expensive to keep replacing!”

“Fuck off, Puck!  Oh, _Encke!_ ” Keeler shouted from within, and Puck stomped off, muttering obscenities as she dusted off the adhesive strips on the back of the breast.

Cain flung her arms around Ethel and Deimos.  “Well, sometimes it’s nice to have a happy ending.  Kinda want to have a happy ending myself and watch you two ladies get it on.  Sort of a special meeting of the itty-bitty titty commi—”

“No,” Ethel and Deimos interrupted, and they ditched Cain.

The end.


	2. Unicorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go shopping for bras with Deimos and Cain.
> 
> Short story in the "Biker Gang" genderbend universe, set before Ethel's summer internship. I changed Deimos' bra size from 32AA to 32AAA and have made the appropriate change in Ch. 1 as well.

Cain tore through her Hello Kitty duffel, flinging clothes, implements, and other personal effects left and right. “Fuck! Shit, I can’t believe it.”

Deimos peered into the emptied bag, then looked up at Cain questioningly.

“I only packed bras with spikes,” Cain explained. “I can’t wear a fucking shirt over a spiked bra! Looks stupid and ruins the shirt.”

“Then don’t wear a shirt,” Deimos suggested.

In fact, that is what Cain had been doing (and that was her preferred fashion choice). “Yeah, but we’re riding into the city this afternoon. I don’t wanna get arrested again. Fucking patriarchs.”

Deimos hummed in agreement.

Cain growled and began picking through her shirts. “I can sacrifice this one. Yellow doesn’t look good on me anyway.” She pulled on the t-shirt.

Her boobs looked like pineapples. Deimos grimaced. “Mall.”

“What?”

“There was a mall a mile or two back. Just get a bra there.”

Cain assessed her pineapples with a critical eye. “Good idea.”

\--

The sleepy mall was mostly empty, of both stores and shoppers, but had a couple anchor department stores and a major lingerie retailer. Cain led Deimos to the lingerie store and surveyed the very pink interior with a sneer.

A sales associate approached and eyed Cain’s prickly endowment with curiosity. “Can I help you?”

“I need a bra. Not a pink bra, unless it has Hello Kitty on it,” Cain said.

“We have no Hello Kitty bras. Do you need to have your measurements taken?”

Cain shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Deimos rolled her eyes as the sales associate fiddled with her measuring tape and subtracted two cups sizes to account for the spikes. While Cain and the sales associate got down to the business of finding a suitable bra that wasn’t one of Cain’s many not-favorite colors (“Not pink. Also, I don’t look good in most yellows, and I’m not partial to green or purple either, unless they’re in a rainbow—”), Deimos picked through the sale bin. There weren’t very many bras in her size, 32AAA—a common problem for her. 32AAA, like any cup size below AA and above DDD, was apparently mythical, like a unicorn: rarely sighted, often doubted, definitely magical, and probably associated with virginity. Ever since Deimos’ fateful and very sexy first time with Cain, she’d had extra trouble finding bras.

That might also have had something to do with joining the biker gang and thus not being able to spend as much time shopping for bras. But whatever.

She dug deeper into the sale bin, past satin and lace and leopard print and rhinestones and ribbons—and there it was.

The unicorn.

The lacy, lime-green, 32AAA push-up bra unicorn, visible only to the pure of heart.

And it was on clearance.

She snatched it before anyone else could take it and hurried to the dressing room, then changed course and headed for the registers instead. Who gave a fuck if it didn’t fit perfectly? At $10, she’d wear it anyway.

\--

Deimos guarded her purchase near the entrance of the store and waited for Cain to finish changing into her new bra—plain black cotton, like every other non-spiked bra she owned—and a Hello Kitty t-shirt Deimos had found in the sale bin. The t-shirt was very tight, so Deimos didn’t mind too much that Hello Kitty would stare back at her while she checked out Cain’s chest.

Cain swaggered towards her with a broad grin and her yellow shirt, with the spiked bra inside, slung over her shoulder. “This was a good idea, Deimos. Got what you need?”

She sure as hell had. She smiled. “Let’s go.”

\--

Cassia waved to them as they reentered the warehouse. “Hey, you two, we’re leaving in an hour.”

Cain saluted jauntily with her yellow shirt and spiked bra.

“Did you get us pineapples? I didn’t think they were in season!” Cassia exclaimed.

Encke took a closer look and shook her head. “Those are not pineapples, unfortunately.”

The end.


End file.
